


Sock-Stuffed Stockings (and other traditions)

by redhoodedwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Brief mention of car accident, Chance Meetings, Christmas, Fluff and Feels, Hale Family Feels, High School flashback, I mean i guess the Hales could be werewolves but it never comes up lol, Kid Fic, M/M, Married Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Past Braeden/Derek Hale, Reunions, Ten Years Later, but like one sentence mention, mentions of canonical deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhoodedwolf/pseuds/redhoodedwolf
Summary: By elisela on tumblr - sterek au: stiles just wants to make it home in time for christmas, so when traffic is crawling due to an accident on the highway he takes a detour down the back roads, only for his beloved jeep to give out. but doesn’t derek hale live in these woods? stiles hasn’t seen him since they were teenagers, but the gentle guy who opens the door with a kid on his hip is definitely not what he expects from the arrogant dick who ignored him back in high school.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 20
Kudos: 366





	Sock-Stuffed Stockings (and other traditions)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elisela](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/gifts).



> Only a month late for Christmas fics but eh who's counting, this is more about their relationship anyway
> 
> Inspired by [this](https://elisela.tumblr.com/post/638494779007795200/sterek-au-stiles-just-wants-to-make-it-home-in) post by elisela on tumblr. Your tags said 'fics i'll never write' so I did it for you!
> 
> and once again longer than I meant it to be

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Stiles grumbled, fingers clenching over the steering wheel as he stared at the never-ending line of cars that stretched out in front of him for seemingly miles. He was less than a mile from the Beacon Hills welcome sign, he’d just gotten off of the highway, excited to be so close, and then--

Standstill. His map program was bathed in red lines stretching all the way downtown to Beacon City and he was about ready to cry. 

He wished he’d kept that stolen siren he’d swiped from the station back in high school to throw on top of the car and maybe get through this mess without getting pulled over for impersonating a police vehicle. It would probably be worth it.

It had been a very long week, and the only thing getting him through it was the promise of two, work-free weeks to spend at home in Beacon Hills with his father and step-family. Stiles loved his job, he really did, but by the time December came through, everyone was itching to end the fourth quarter on a high note, which meant long hours working to the bone. 

Stiles inched his Jeep forward and pursed his lips. He couldn’t give up yet, he was _so close_.

After ten minutes of inching, Stiles saw it. His salvation.

Not paved, not even gravel, just dirt, but it was a road. A road he knew, from many evening drives in high school, would get him home. Not faster than the main road, but probably way faster than if he would try and stick this out. It looked like the accident causing the backup had happened minutes before Stiles came on the scene, involving several vehicles, so it was unlikely to clear up soon. Stiles felt bad for the poor souls involved, hoped they were okay, but he didn’t need to get stuck if he could get away.

Feeling like a sneak, he flipped on his turn signal, edged on to the shoulder, and made the turn onto the horribly, unlit dirt road that would send him home.

He shouted with joy as he flipped on his brights. The sun was setting soon, but there was enough light that passed through the trees outlining the road that aided visibility, but Stiles was as ever wary of deer. He slowed down just a touch, switching gears as he did, just in case.

After a few seconds, Stiles frowned. The gear shift was--

_Creeeeaaaak!_

Stiles hit the brakes on instinct, knowing that whenever his poor baby Jeep made a noise like that, it was time to assess. The car slowed further and eventually came to a stop as he rounded a bend. He threw it into park and sat in silence, turning off the radio with a flick of the wrist. The engine was ticking, but there was also a popping noise that he recognized as Roscoe’s brand of throwing a hissy fit.

Stiles forced back the urge to hit the dashboard with his clenched fists, because it wasn’t the old girl’s fault she was old.

But of course, of course it stalled out. At least repairs would be monumentally cheaper here than in San Jose, and had this happened in that long line of traffic it would have been a far worse situation, so he was lucky, in a way.

But now he was stuck, in the woods, at sunset, and, yet-- he checked his phone. No cell service.

“ _Shiiiiiiit_.”

Stiles allowed himself sixty seconds of pouting before taking a deep breath and taking, yet another, assessment of his situation. 

He could walk back to the main road and see if he could hitch a ride with one of the other cars still stuck in traffic and call a tow to retrieve his Jeep. Provided someone would even be kind enough to do so, that would take probably the same amount of time if he just walked home.

But his body was exhausted, and as fit as he was, even he knew where his daily limits were. Also, he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, too excited to get home, and his stomach was angry at him for forgetting.

Tabling that option for now, he continued thinking. Dirt road in the middle of the woods. Wait, why would there be a road--

The Hales! That’s right! One of the Hales was _bound_ to still live in that large house the family owned. He knew the elder Hales had moved once their kids graduated high school, but it was likely one of the kids had taken the place over, or they’d sold it to some other rich family.

Maybe he could get a ride from them, have them drop him off at home, and call the tow, saving at least an hour on the last plan.

His stomach rumbled again, and Stiles made his mind up.

Snagging his backpack from the backseat (Beacon Hills wasn’t as much of a hotbed of thieves as the city, but it was habit at this point to take anything seriously important or expensive with him at all times), he exited the Jeep. Using his phone flashlight, Stiles illuminated his path and headed towards where he remembered the house was, sticking to the side of the road just in case. 

After five minutes, he spotted lights in the distance, and the road suddenly turned to gravel. Stiles stopped himself just barely from tripping at the change of foundation, but the lights spurred him on and he sped into a jog.

The house appeared before him a few moments later, the long circular driveway inviting him closer. Parked under the large double carport was a large Toyota, and next to it a familiar black Camaro, and it took Stiles a moment before he placed it. Derek Hale. Ugh. Of course. 

Well, he’d come this far. If he had to suck up to jerkwad Derek Hale for a ride home, then so be it. They were both adults now. Stiles could tamp down on the old rivalry between the lacrosse team and the basketball team. He could forget the glares, the snubs, the shoulder-bumps-into-lockers, and the nasty smirks from the boy two years his senior. He was twenty-six. Not sixteen. 

Stiles slowed his jog as he approached the front door and took a deep breath. Seeking out the doorbell, he saw it was one of those security camera ones that glowed blue. He pressed his finger into the button, heard it cheerily ring from behind the door, and then stepped back and smiled sheepishly at the lens. 

The porch lights sprung on, and Stiles could see beyond the frosted glass windows bracketing the large double-sided front door that someone was approaching. 

The lock on the other side of the door clicked, and Stiles squared his shoulders and prepared for the Hale Glare.

Instead, when the door opened, a much younger face was revealed first, and the child was clinging to the shoulders of a tall man that Stiles knew he should recognize, but the smile on his face was foreign.

“Stiles,” Derek Hale exclaimed, voice slightly breathy. “Wow, hi, it’s been a while.”

Stiles had to pick his jaw up off of the porch to respond in a voice that hopefully didn’t squeak. “Derek! Hey! Yeah, been, uh, quite a few years.”

Derek was still smiling at him, head tilting to the side in confusion as his eyes roamed Stiles up and down, and Stiles tried not to fidget. “Is everything alright? Not that I’m not glad to see you--”

“Daddy!” The child tugged at Derek’s ear, and the man’s attention was immediately diverted. The kid leaned in close and whispered, audibly, “Who is that?” and pointed at Stiles.

“My apologies,” Stiles stated and stuck out his hand. “I’m Stiles Stilinski. I went to high school with your, erm, _dad_.”

“Shake his hand, Millie,” Derek whispered, also audibly, in the child’s ear, who nodded and did so.

Shaking Stiles’ hand meekly, Stiles was introduced. “I’m Millie, I’m almost four, and I am a girl. Are you a boy?”

Stiles beamed. “I am a boy! Thank you for asking. How close are you to four?”

“My birthday is on the first of the year!” she exclaimed, clearly warming up to the stranger on her porch.

“Well that’s a very special birthday!” Millie opened her mouth to say something, but the next sentence tumbled out of Stiles’ mouth before he could stop himself. “Just like your dad’s!”

Derek’s gaze snapped away from his daughter and met Stiles’, surprise on his face. Stiles wished he could bite his tongue off. “You remember?”

Thankfully, Millie rescued him. “Right! Christmas and New Years. Grandma says we get double birthday wishes.”

“Well she’s right,” Stiles croaked out, avoiding Derek’s assessing gaze and staring at his shoulder instead. “Ah, so, I hate to ask this, as you’re obviously, um, busy. But my car stalled when I was on my way home, about fifteen minutes,” he jerked his thumbs behind him, “that way. I need to call a tow and arrange a ride home.”

“I’m sure the sheriff is happy to have you home for the holidays,” Derek said, and Stiles nodded, dropping his gaze to his feet. “But why were you heading this way? Don’t you live further east?”

Stiles snapped his head up. “You remember where I live?” Derek’s jaw dropped slightly, and Stiles hurried to speak so as to not hear whatever Derek was going to say. “I do, er, my family does. There was an accident right at the entrance to town. Nasty--” he stopped himself from explaining further, as there was a child present, “and would have taken me forever to inch through, so when I saw the preserve turn-off I knew I could go around and get back. But then my Jeep...” he trailed off.

“You still drive that old thing?” Derek asked, humor in his voice, but none of the condescending type he used to use when throwing jeers at Stiles and his teammates. 

“We have an understanding,” Stiles argued. “Usually.”

“The same understanding you had ten years ago?” Derek asked, and _there_ was that familiar smirk.

Okay, so maybe Stiles’ Jeep had always fought him, but it had never failed on him in dangerous situations! Only in mildly embarrassing ones, like right now. Or like when he was sixteen, Jeep not starting in the parking lot of the high school, his dad on the night shift, and Scott at work, and Derek being the one to, weirdly, tersely offer him a ride home while he called for a tow. 

That car ride had been mostly silent, after Stiles hung up with the garage, the low hum of the radio nearly as loud as the Camaro’s engine, until Derek asked about his Jeep.

“Used to be my mom’s,” Stiles found himself admitting, for no real reason other than it had been a long day and even Derek wasn’t a jerk enough to insult a car that belonged to a dead woman.

Derek had hummed, fists clenching over the steering wheel. “This was Laura’s car,” he spoke softly.

Everyone in Beacon Hills knew of the untimely death of the oldest Hale child. At twenty-one, it was one of those horrific cases that all parents feared when their children went off to college. 

Stiles had nodded and hummed in understanding.

“You get it for your birthday?” Derek asked. “The Jeep,” he clarified.

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, well, as soon as I passed my test. It sat in the driveway mocking me for a week until then.” And since he was feeling charitable, he then asked, “Get anything exciting for your eighteenth?”

Derek had snorted. “A stocking full of socks.” Stiles gave him an odd look. “It’s my family’s tradition for Christmas. I get one pair extra because it’s _my_ day, _too_.”

Stiles smothered a smile. “I like that,” he’d admitted.

In Stiles’ memory, that was the only positive interaction he and ever had with Derek Hale, up until today. A few months later, Derek had graduated, moved away, and Stiles hadn’t heard from him since.

“Yes, well, Roscoe is a fickle girl who needs to rest, sometimes.”

Derek, still holding Millie on his waist with seemingly no effort spared for the action, took a step back and gestured for Stiles to come in. 

“Thanks,” Stiles murmured, stepping into the foyer. “I would have just stayed with the old bat, but--”

“No reception,” Derek finished for him. “I know the woods well. Kick off your shoes, you can leave your backpack here too, feel free to relax. Millie and I were just baking some cookies before dinner. You’re welcome to join us.”

“Thank you,” Stiles repeated, doing as Derek suggested. Millie slid down from her father’s side and skipped into the kitchen, her socks jingling with the motion from the tiny bells Stiles noted on the sides.

Stiles had never been in the Hale house before, but he’d seen its large size from outside many a time. It seemed like a lot of house. The fact that the living room could seat twenty people comfortably was proof enough of that.

It was just Derek and Millie in the kitchen, no other kids. No spouse, Stiles noted. Was it just the two of them in this sprawling place?

“Tell me, Millie,” Stiles started, because it was always easier to talk to kids than former high school enemies, “what kind of cookies are you master bakers creating?”

Derek snorted from where he back was facing Stiles as he kneaded something in a bowl on the opposite counter to the center island where Stiles leaned. 

“Oh, _lots_ ,” she exclaimed. “We’re doing sugar cookies now, but we won’t ice them until tomorrow when Grandma and Grandpa get here. But in the oven are these mini chocolate cookies that are so yummy, you have to try one!”

“If your dad says so, then I will. I just have to make a phone call first, okay? Mind if I use your living room, Derek?”

“Go ahead,” Derek said, not even turning to face him, but waving a flour-covered hand in dismissal. 

Millie pouted, but easily slid over to Derek’s side, trying to peek up over the counter and see what he was doing.

Stiles headed back towards the living room that was on the opposite side of the front door, pulling up the familiar number of the Beacon Hills garage. 

He had a short conversation with the attendant who said they’d let him know when a tow truck would become available, but due to the accident and the late hour would be likely two hours out, if not longer. Stiles thanked them, hoping his wince didn’t come through in his voice. It wasn’t the garage’s fault, just poor timing. 

Wondering if he should call his dad or Scott and see if they could pick hip up, he was distracted by the wall of photos that bracketed a gorgeous grand piano in the corner of the room. Stiles didn’t know much about instruments, but with the gleam on the top and the fact that the uncovered keys weren’t covered in dust showed that someone used it regularly and it was in good condition. 

The first picture he looked at was the largest, a family photo taken probably two decades ago. The Derek in this picture was very young, sitting in the front row on a settee, holding who Stiles assumed was a baby Cora Hale, whom had been in the same year as Stiles but at a different school for high school, some fancy academy for specialized study. Maybe music, if the piano was any indication. Next to Derek was Laura, and Stiles smiled sadly at the giant smile she wore, showing of her missing front tooth. Surrounding the children were several adults, most Stiles didn’t recognize. Talia and Eric Hale stood in the middle, leaning over the settee, both pairs of their parents on either side of them, Stiles assumed. There were other children and adults, none Stiles recognized. One of the men next to Talia looked familiar, but Stiles couldn’t remember his name. 

The next photos he saw were obviously senior pictures and of graduations. There was a photo of Derek in his basketball uniform, ball under one arm, face set in a neutral scowl that was so familiar to Stiles. There were a few baby photos, some old enough they could be from generations passed. On the other side of the family photo was clearly newer, crisper photos. He saw a picture of a baby, newborn, swaddled in a blanket and a beanie on their head that had the same darker skin as Millie. Next to that, a black and white photo of Derek holding baby Millie, looking down at her in awe. 

“Get a hold of the garage?”

Stiles yelped and spun around, only to see Derek behind him, arms crossed and smirking. 

“Ha! Yes, I did. They’re a bit swamped at the moment, I’m afraid. I’m sorry to impose on you like this, but--”

Derek cut him off with a wave of his hand. “No worries. It’s pretty quiet around here, just the two of us. Now you can be the one whose ear gets talked off.” Derek paused and then smirked. “Or perhaps she will meet her match in you, if memory serves.”

Stiles tried so hard not to blush and failed, miserably. “I’m sure she’ll be better conversation than you,” he murmured.

Derek’s smile faded at that, and Stiles felt a spike of regret. 

“I suppose I deserve that,” Derek said a moment later, one hand raised to rub the back of his neck. “I was pretty taciturn in high school, wasn’t I? And our conversations usually were short and not so nice.”

“I gave as good as I got,” Stiles responded after a beat, taking the not-apology for what it was and hoping Derek would take his in return. “Besides, I heard there’s cookies involved, which always improves a conversation.”

A loud beeping rang out form the kitchen then, and Derek smiled at Stiles, the same smile he greeted him at the door with. Stiles wondered if his heart beat skipping like that was normal.

“Dad! The oven!” Millie shouted.

The two men broke their staring contest and Derek headed back to the kitchen, Stiles following. He decided to put the further calling to the side and enjoy whatever the heck was happening to him right now.

Derek rescued the cookies from the oven, and as soon as Stiles scented the air, he groaned. “That smells amazing. I may have to steal them.”

“Not all of them!” Millie declared.

Stiles sighed dramatically, draping himself over the counter and pouting. “I _guess_ I can leave one for you.”

“What about Dad? He _made_ them.”

Stiles glanced up at Derek who was closing the oven door and clearly avoiding his gaze for some reason.

“You’re right, you’re right. I’m being selfish. He can have one too.”

“Stiles!” Millie giggled as Stiles shot her a grin.

“I’m just _teasing_ ,” Stiles assured her. “But I will want one. And maybe one to take home for Scott, too. He’s got a sweet tooth,” he whispered to Millie, who snickered.

“You, uh, live with McCall?” Derek asked, pulling off the oven mitts and setting them on the counter.

Stiles shook his head. “No, no, he’s got his own place in Beacon City. It’d be weird if he was still living with his mom, now that she and my dad finally figured their sh-- um, got together,” he censored himself. “I live in San Jose right now for work. But we’re all staying at Dad’s for the holidays.”

Derek’s eyes met his and widened as Stiles spoke. “Oh, that’s nice. My parents are flying in tomorrow so that we can all do the holidays here. Cora will be here in a few days. Aunts, uncles, everyone.”

Stiles whistled. “So it won’t stay a quiet house for long, then.”

Derek chuckled, ducking his head as he smiled. “No, no it will not. That’s why I’m trying to get as much baking done ahead of time as I can, so I can feed them and keep them complacent.”

“Did you always know how to bake?” Stiles asked, taking a seat at the center island, feeling more comfortable. He watched as Millie started to, carefully, arms shoved in too-big oven mitts that went up to her elbows, spatula the cookies off of the baking pans and onto the cooling rack next to the stove top. 

Derek shook his head. “Not until college. My roommates got me swept up in this selling baked goods scheme they had going, and I actually enjoyed it. Plus making the extra cash didn’t hurt.”

“Daddy is a big baker,” Millie chimed in.

Derek ruffled her curls. “What Millie means is that I work for a chain of bakeries, coming up with recipes and the like. It’s much more corporate than it sounds, though.”

“That’s... really cool, Derek,” Stiles admitted, surprised. He would have never guessed this man would bake for a living.

“Assumed I was a pro basketball player?” Derek teased, shooting a smirk over his shoulder at Stiles as he moved over to the crock pot that was at the end of the counter. He opened the lid, and the smell of pork filled the room, mixing somewhat unpleasantly with the rich chocolate smell, until the lid was replaced. 

“Nah, the whole town would have known if that were the case and I would never have escaped the news. I assumed...” he wiggled his fingers at Derek’s torso, “personal trainer, or something to do with the muscles.”

Stiles spotted a blush clinging to Derek’s cheeks, and he grinned victoriously. At least he wasn’t the only one.

“And what about yours?”

Stiles almost choked on an inhale. “ _My muscles_?”

Derek shrugged after turning down the heat on the pot and then facing Stiles head-on. “Yeah. You’ve filled out since high school. I could easily say the same about you.”

Damn, Derek was winning on the blush war that Stiles didn’t think the other man was aware he was fighting in. Stiles cleared his throat. “Um, thank you. No, not a personal trainer. I work for Google.”

“Google! That’s so cool!” Millie exclaimed, making Stiles jump as she brandished her spatula at him. “Can you tell me everything I need to know?”

Stiles laughed. “No way, I’m not that smart. I do more of the...” he tried to figure out how to explain himself, “designing of things. Kind of like your dad! But instead of making a new cake, I make a new program.”

Millie looked disappointed now that Stiles was no longer the bearer of all of the world’s knowledge. “Oh,” she said, lowering her weapon. 

“But Stiles is very smart to get that job,” Derek told Millie, poking her on the nose. He caught Stiles’ eye, and Stiles had to force his smile not not be a full-on beam.

“That is impressive, Stiles,” Derek added a moment later after instructing Millie to get the cookie cutters from the cabinet. 

Stiles shrugged. He was only in his first year at the company, it wasn’t like he was that high up the food chain, or a known name. But he did really like his job, even when it drove him nuts and made him want to escape to his hometown for two weeks. 

“So, am I allowed to ask...” Stiles couldn’t take his curiosity any longer and flicked his eyes over to Millie and then back to Derek.

Derek furrowed his eyebrows, confused for a second, before his face relaxed in understanding. He smiled, and Stiles felt the tension in his shoulders abate. 

“Braeden and I met in college. We never married and parted amicably, but we had Millie before we split and it was the best decision I ever made. She does work for the government and moves around a lot but visits when she can.”

Stiles nodded and chose not to ask anything further, feeling bad for prying as much as he had, but Millie piped in, clearly still listening as she rummaged around in the cabinets, placing different holiday-themed cookie cutters on the counter as she unearthed them. “Rae-Rae is nice, she always brings me gifts.”

“That’s the best kind of visitor,” Stiles agreed with her. 

Derek propped a cookie on a napkin in front of him and Stiles glanced at him in surprise. “Pre-dinner dessert,” he mouthed and shot him a wink.

Stiles was quick to shove it in his mouth, but then he had to smother his moan. The cookie was bite-sized, but chocolaty and warm and melted on his tongue. And the powdered sugar dusted on top left a layer behind on his lips he had no issues with licking off and savoring. He used the napkin to wipe his mouth after, though, to remove any extra evidence from prying child eyes.

Derek was staring at him, and Stiles froze for a second before nodding and giving a thumbs up, approving immensely of the recipe. 

Derek quirked the corner of his mouth up in a small smile and then turned to Millie. “Okay, Millie. You get all the cutters? Put them in the sink to wash them and wash your hands. We’ll cut the dough after dinner, it needs to cool in the fridge for a bit, okay?”

“Okay!” the four-year-old agreed and, miraculously, did as asked. 

“I was never that obedient as a kid,” Stiles murmured. 

“She’s only on her best behavior because we have a guest,” Derek whispered, and Stiles turned to see him suddenly much closer, now at his side. “She can be quite the terror, especially on mornings before school.”

Stiles snickered, imagining the Derek Hale Glare on the girl’s face, bushy eyebrows and all, and then had to smack a hand over his mouth to stop the guffaw that wished to escape.

“I’m sure you were exactly the same.”

Derek hummed and nodded. “So my mom says. Ju--”

“Just desserts,” Stiles spoke over him, in unison, and then bit his lip when he realized they’d said the same thing.

Derek was smiling at him, and Stiles felt his heart skip once more. 

“Clean hands!” Millie declared, throwing her clean but still wet hands up. “Dinner time!”

“Good job. Now wipe them off on the towel and get three forks, three knives, and three spoons from the drawer. Stiles, you’re okay with pork?”

“Oh! Oh, you don’t have to--” Stiles began to protest.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Your stomach says otherwise, going by how quickly that cookie lasted in front of you.” Stiles huffed. “Besides, I’ll put you to work after, cutting cookies.”

“Now that sounds like a reward, having access to cookie dough,” Stiles countered.

“Then I suppose it’s your lucky day,” Derek replied before leaving Stiles’ side and reaching for the hanging cabinets and pulling out plastic plates. 

“I guess so,” Stiles said to himself. “Yeah, pork is great,” he said louder.

Derek made a plate for Millie first, shredding the pork in the crock pot and making a pile on her plate before scooping a large spoonful of corn from a bowl and said she could pick how much salad she wanted on the side, passing her the tongs. Stiles watched the interaction with a smile on his face, leaning on the counter a few feet away, his own plate in hand.

Millie skipped off to the table where she had set the cutlery down, murmuring to herself, “One for Daddy, one for Millie, one for Stiles. One for Daddy...”

Derek took the plate from Stiles’ hand as he was distracted, and smirked when he noticed. “Still so slow,” Derek teased.

“Hey, I’ll have you know, by senior year, I was no longer sitting on the bench. I was first line, in fact.” Stiles puffed his chest out.

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Guess that’s when you toned up.”

Stiles held out one hand, asking for his plate back. “Guess so.”

“Pity I wasn’t there to see it.”

Derek dropped the now full plate into Stiles’ hand and ignored the younger man’s dropped jaw.

“Millie picked a spot for you, go on,” he instructed, turning away from Stiles and dishing up his own meal.

Face hot and feeling off-kilter, Stiles carefully made his way to the kitchen table and sat where Millie indicated he should. She hopped up into the chair at the head of the table, Stiles on her left, an empty spot for Derek on her right, across from him. 

“Drinks?” Derek asked. “Millie?”

“Can I have juice?”

“Yes you may. Stiles?”

“Just water is fine,” he assured.

When Derek took his seat after setting glasses (or plastic cups, for Millie) in front of them all, Millie took that as her cue to start eating, and hoping the food would eliminate his shock and cheek flush, Stiles joined her.

“Thank you, Derek, this is great,” he said after a minute passed of clanging silverware and scraping of plastic. He gestured to the plate with his fork.

“Yeah, Dad, it _is_ good! Did you buy it?”

Derek choked on his bite and Stiles grinned. “No, Millie, I made this.”

“So, the baker isn’t a chef,” Stiles teased gently.

“I’ll have you know we only do takeout once a week, right Millie?”

Millie nodded. “Mhmm. Daddy gets enough so we have leftovers for _days_.”

Derek groaned, and Stiles’ grin widened. 

He turned to Millie. “That’s pretty smart. I’m sure it’s tough to bake all day _and_ then have time to cook. My dad does that a lot. He’s the sheriff of Beacon Hills, so he works long hours and doesn’t have time to cook. And his wife is a nurse, so she doesn’t either.

“That’s why it’s important that I visit them, so I can make them food that _doesn’t_ come from a carton,” Stiles added. “So remember when you get older you have to come home to cook for your Dad.”

Millie nodded. “Hm, okay. But I don’t know how to cook,” She shoved a spoonful of corn into her mouth and chewed viciously, clearly thinking hard, but then stopped and looked at him. “Stiles, can you teach me?”

“Stiles is only here for the holidays, honey,” Derek told her, clearly giving Stiles an out. 

“You have lots of time to learn,” Stiles assured Millie as she began to pout. “And the best part about cooking is you can have healthy meals, like this, and it doesn’t take much learning.” He pointed at the meat. “This, you just put it in the slow cooker all day, and then when you get home from work in the evening, it’s done! You can get bags of salad at the grocery store, all ready to eat. And vegetables like these can easily be heated in the microwave in minutes. See, you’re already learning.”

“Huh!” Millie said and looked down at her plate like she was analyzing the food in front of her for secret cooking tips. 

Derek mouthed “thank you” at him and Stiles ducked his head and smiled. He glanced back up beneath his lashes and looked at Derek, noticing the now shorter and more modern haircut, the layer of scruff on his face, the smile lines next to his unfairly pretty eyes, his broad shoulders that lead down to strong arms that currently hid from view his toned torso...

“Amazing you still look so good if you eat leftover takeout half the week,” Stiles muttered, but Derek still caught it going by how he choked on his next bite. He reached for his water and took a deep gulp, meeting Stiles’ eyes over the rim. 

Deciding to play coy, Stiles arched an eyebrow and shrugged one shoulder.

Stiles lost track of who was winning the blushing war, but he felt pretty victorious right now.

Holy hell, was he actually _flirting_ with _Derek Hale_? Was he insane?

And yet, Derek didn’t seem adverse to it at all. Huh.

To hide his internal freak out, Stiles decided to put all of his attention on Millie and ask her about school. She gleefully told him all about how she was in preschool half-day right now but next year she’d go to full-day before she started kindergarten the _next_ year. She talked all about her friends and how she liked coloring and arts and crafts and that she really hated when she had to come home because that meant it was nap time. Stiles didn’t hide his sigh of longing for such simpler times. 

She barely needed any probing, clearly all of her hesitance around Stiles evaporated, as she went on until their plates were all cleared and set to the side. Derek popped into the kitchen to bring them each a cookie, and she paused to eat it. Stiles savored this one, breaking it into two bites to enjoy.

Derek had powdered sugar on his bottom lip and Stiles couldn’t stop staring at it. 

“Think it’s time for cookie-cutting, Millie?” Derek asked when she stopped to take a breath.

She immediately jumped from her chair and raced into the kitchen, leaving her plate. But she did at least wash her hands.

Stiles and Derek stood then as well, and Stiles checked his phone. No calls from the garage or the towing company, and nothing from his dad yet either, wondering why he wasn’t home yet. It had been over an hour, he noted, since arriving on Derek’s doorstep.

He realized he didn’t want to leave yet, as he carried his plate into the kitchen and loaded it into the dishwasher as Millie started enthusiastically showing him and Derek the shapes she had picked out for the cookies. 

Derek retrieved the dough from the fridge and then wiped down the center island counter before sprinkling down a layer of flour. 

Derek lifted her up onto one of the stools, and told her to stop wiggling or she’d fall off and never get any cookies done.

“Okay, Millie, you know the rules,” Derek said as he started rolling out the dough. Stiles admired the nice cookie cutters and not the flexing muscles in the older man’s arms. “Pick one shape, make the cookie, and then put it on the pan. Stiles, can you grab the large pan from the dish drainer?” Stiles passed it over. “Thanks,” Derek said with a grin.

“Then you pick one, then Stiles picks one, then me again!” Millie finished relaying the rules.

“Great. Alright, go ahead.”

Millie was very helpful, pointing out to Stiles when it was his turn what shapes were the best. “The reindeer are tricky, their antlers like to fall off, so you have to be careful!” she warned him. “Same with the Santas. The pom-poms on his hat don’t stick as nice.”

“Nicely,” Derek corrected her at the same time as Stiles, and the two shared a startled look before turning away.

As the shaped holes filled the dough, Derek gathered it up and then rolled it back out. Stiles could see, even with such a simple recipe, that Derek could do this in his sleep, chattering with Millie who started to name the stars and hearts and gingerbread men as his hands worked seemingly without his attention needed. His fingers worked deftly, feeling out the right thickness for the dough and then stamping his next shape without looking down.

This was not a strength that Stiles thought he would find attractive in a man, and yet here he was. 

They filled two trays and chattered as they did.

“What do you want from Santa?” Millie asked Stiles.

Rent money, Stiles didn’t say. “Hm, well I think if I could ask Santa for _anything_... I would ask for a puppy!”

“Puppy!” Millie exclaimed. 

“What do _you_ want?” he asked her, placing a dough bell next to the other cookies.

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “Not tel-ling!”

“Not telling!” He pretended to be annoyed. “But I told you _my_ Santa wish!”

“She’s _saving_ it to tell Santa when we see him on Saturday,” Derek said, sounding very wise and masking his clear annoyance at not knowing what his daughter wanted. 

Stiles chuckled. “Oh, I see, that makes sense. Did you write it down in a letter? You should always write it down, just in case Santa forgets. You can give it to him so he brings it back to the North Pole with him.”

Millie gasped. “You’re right! Daddy, when we’re done with cookies, help me write a letter, okay?”

“Of course,” Derek agreed to the task with all the seriousness he possessed. 

Stiles winked at him. “Little trick my dad played on me,” he whispered, leaning close to Derek. “Teachers usually do it with kids, but usually not early enough to get stuff in on time.”

Derek grinned at him, showing off his teeth, and Stiles quickly turned away, amazed at himself for being pulled in even deeper over _teeth_. 

“Are you excited to see your grandparents and all your family?” he asked Millie.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, then we can do all the fun stuff, like decorating.”

“Yeah, I saw the tree but noticed it was empty,” Stiles said, gesturing to the living room. Across from the fireplace, parallel to the grand piano, was a bare, unlit tree in a stand. 

“We decorate with everyone, family tradition,” Derek explained, rolling out the dough for it looked like one last hurrah. 

“Like the sock stockings,” Stiles recalled.

Derek’s eyes widened, hands halting in their movement.

“Do you do socks in your stocking too, Stiles?” Millie asked.

“No, we don’t have anything as fun as socks, Just chocolate. Yuck,” he exaggerated, lolling his tongue out. Millie swatted at him with a metal cookie cutter as she batted him away when he leaned into her space across the counter. 

“Careful,” Derek admonished, and Millie set it down and picked up a plastic one instead. 

“My family is smaller than yours,” Stiles explained to her, “So we don’t have as many people to come up with so many fun traditions. But we make cookies, like this, and decorate a tree too. My step-brother Scott and I used to spend Christmas Eve hanging out even before our parents got married, so now all of us do it together and watch silly Christmas movies.”

“What’s your favorite?”

Stiles was surprised by Derek’s question.

“Movie?” Derek nodded. Stiles hummed in thought. “Well, there’s always _Die Hard_.” Derek swatted at him with a plastic cookie cutter this time. “ _White Christmas_ was my mom’s favorite, but that’s a Christmas Day thing. Usually we flip on Hallmark for the day and go where the wind takes us.”

“Classics,” Derek nodded.

Stiles snorted. “Hey, Alexa Pena-Vega owns half my heart. and Carlos owns the other half.”

“Bisexual, then,” Derek said, blandly, and Stiles huffed out a laugh that was more of a squeak than anything.

“All done!” Millie declared as the last of the dough was shaped into a funky-looking tree.

“It’s perfect,” Stiles agreed, after clearing his throat.

Derek loaded the trays into the ovens (double ovens, Stiles noted, how fancy) and then Stiles took the sink duty, hand-washing all of the cutters while Millie and Derek cleaned the counter. 

“Can I have another cookie?” Millie asked, and then added, “Please?” after a silent moment where Stiles assumed Derek gave her a look.

“Can I have another cookie, pleeeaaase?” Stiles asked jokingly as he scrubbed the tight corners of the reindeer cookie cutter free of dough.

A hand suddenly appeared in front of him, and a cookie hovered over his mouth. He caught Derek’s eye as he dropped his jaw, and Derek pressed the bite of chocolate powdered heaven against his tongue. His fingers brushed Stiles’ lower lip as he retreated, and Stiles closed his mouth and turned away as he chewed. His hands resumed their scrubbing while his heart crept up further into his throat. 

“Millie.” Derek’s voice made him jump and knocked him out of his thoughts. “It’s time for PJs.” Derek ignored his whining daughter, like he was used to the push back, and looked at Stiles. “I’m going to get her ready for bed upstairs and then we’ll be back down. Ten minutes.”

“It’s your house, Derek,” Stiles said, dropping his gaze and rinsing the already clean rolling pin. “I’m the uninvited guest. Do what you need to do, don’t mind me.”

Stiles didn’t look back up, even when he could feel Derek’s eyes still on him. It wasn’t until he heard the creak of the stairs that he turned off the sink and took a deep breath. He dried his hands on the towel and pulled out his phone.

There was an automated text from the tow saying their ETA was a half an hour, sent about ten minutes ago, and a text from Scott asking him when he was going to get in and if he would need dinner.

Stiles told him it would still be a bit longer, he already ate, and that he’d see him soon and that he was very excited and couldn’t wait.

Scott immediately texted back some happy emojis that made Stiles smile, for a moment. 

The timer on the cookies flickered red as it counted down the seconds left, and he peeked on them and they looked great, delicious. Too good, maybe. 

This was too much.

He made up his mind, then.

As soon as Derek came back down, Stiles would thank him for his hospitality and then walk back to his car and wait for the tow. There was no reason to do anything other than that.

As wonderful as the last few hours had been, this wasn’t a moment that could last outside of this random bubble of time. Stiles lived in San Jose, not Beacon Hills. Derek had a daughter. Their priorities differed too much. 

If this had happened when they were in high school, before all of the big decisions, then maybe. But not now, not a decade later whey they were both leading separate lives of their own. Hell, Stiles hadn’t thought about Derek Hale more than a handful of times since high school graduation, and it was likely the same for Derek, if not less. 

“You look like your brain is going crazy.”

Derek was standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Millie behind him hopping off of the bottom stair and dashing into the living room, wearing a purple footie onesie, her hair now tied up in a springy ponytail. 

Derek made an amused noise and continued, “You have the same face as you did back then. That face when you’re trying to figure something out but things just aren’t matching up.”

Stiles swallowed his heart and glanced up and over Derek’s shoulder, staring at the banister of the staircase. “The tow truck is on its way. So thank you, for hosting me for a bit and being so generous with your food. Millie is a lovely girl.”

He darted around Derek and headed for his shoes, backpack, and coat at the front door, shoving his phone in the jacket pocket. 

Stiles could hear Derek dealing with the cookies in the ovens as the timer chimed, taking them out, and let out a soft sigh of relief. Maybe he would be able to leave without issue.

“Let me drive you,” Derek offered, suddenly behind him as he shoved his other foot into his boot.

“No,” Stiles shot back immediately. “It’s not a long walk. And besides, I have to work off those cookies if I want to keep my _dashing_ figure.” The joke fell flat. 

“It’s too dark out to walk, there’s no good lighting. Let me drive you to your Jeep.”

Stiles waved a hand in Millie’s direction. “You can’t leave your daughter alone.”

“She’ll come with, it’s not bedtime yet.”

Stiles was running out of excuses and the will to make excuses. He wanted to extend this moment for as long as he could, but he also knew it would only spring hope when there was none to plant. 

“Stiles, the road isn’t paved and you could trip and hurt yourself in this dark. Please, I really can’t do with a lawsuit. Let us drive you.”

Stiles finished lacing up his boots and stood, leveling a look at Derek. He had car keys in hand, but he looked so soft in his flour-dusted henley and well-worn jeans, feet bare on the hardwood floors. Stiles wanted to see this again, wanted to know more about this adult Derek. 

“Okay,” he heard himself say.

Derek grinned and then called Millie over. 

“You can watch your show when we get back, okay? We have to take Stiles to his car so they can get it all fixed up.”

Surprisingly, Millie didn’t argue and just asked Stiles, “What color is your car?”

“It’s blue,” Stiles answered as he shrugged on his jacket. “A powder blue, or baby blue.” Millie blinked. “Light blue,” Stiles simplified. 

Millie nodded. “Okay. I’ll keep looking for it.”

Not having the heart to explain to the girl that it wasn’t lost, Stiles just nodded and gave her a smile.

“Alright, let’s go Millie.”

Derek brought the three of them out of the house, the front door locking automatically behind them. Millie in Derek’s arms, Derek unlocked the Camaro (of course, Stiles rolled his eyes) and got Millie situated in the back in her car seat. Stiles slid into the passenger seat and was hit with a wave of nostalgia. Even if he’d only been in this car for less than twenty minutes, once, a decade ago, the memory was surprisingly vivid.

Derek started the car as he shut his door, and Stiles buckled himself in belatedly. He fit his backpack between his knees.

“Brings back memories, huh?” Derek said, voice soft. Not waiting for an answer, he pushed out of the car port and headed towards the Jeep. 

Christmas songs poured out from the radio and Millie sang along, mostly by humming and speaking random vowels during the verses and then becoming much more confident at the chorus. Stiles couldn’t help but melt and enjoy the pure moment for what it was. 

And then it shattered, because as the Jeep appeared in view, bathed by their headlights, it was backlit by the lights of the tow truck as it arrived at the same time.

“Well, thanks for a wonderful evening Derek, Millie. Your dinner and cookies were delicious. Remember that note for Santa, Millie,” 

Millie “mhmmed” and nodded as Stiles unbuckled his seat belt.

“We’ll wait until you get situated,” Derek said as Stiles popped open the passenger door, his final goodbye dying on his tongue.

 _Now_ Derek had a good guy impulse. 

Stiles shouldered his backpack and jogged over to the tow truck, shaking the hand of the driver and thanking them and apologizing for the late hour. There was a brief discussion of what garage to take it to as Stiles pulled his suitcase out of the trunk, needing it for the next day, then credit card details were hashed out, and Stiles signed some papers. 

“Need a lift?” he was asked.

“Yeah, just give me a second,” Stiles said, and the driver shrugged and started to attach the Jeep to the tow.

Stiles jogged back to Derek’s side of the car, suitcase bumping along the ground behind him, and Derek rolled down his window. He was smiling so sweetly, and Millie was now unbuckled and leaning over the center console and beaming up at him. 

“You guys can head back, I’ll get the driver to drop me off on the way.” Never mind the garage was in the opposite di--

“But the garage is the opposite way,” Derek frustratingly pointed out. “We can just take you home.”

Stiles opened his mouth to argue, with what he had no clue, but Derek held up a hand to stop him before he could even think.

“Stiles.” Derek closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked up at him. Stiles swallowed thickly. “I’ve had a great evening, we both did.” He jerked his head towards Millie. “You made it a great night. You weren’t a burden, you were a gift. And I think, and stop me if I’m seeing things, that you liked spending time with us too. With me.”

“I did,” Stiles agreed, abidingly. 

“And I want to do it again. I want to learn more about you, about what you like to cook, about your Christmas traditions, about your job, about what happened since high school.”

“Derek,” Stiles said, a warning.

“I said I remembered that look of yours, right? I know you were thinking about all the logical negatives to continuing to foster this,” he waved his hands back and forth between them. “And I like that about you, how you think. It’s really attractive to me.”

Stiles blushed. 

“But if I’ve learned anything since having a child, it’s that sometimes you have to go with what feels right, even if logic says you should do something else, because the risk might just be great. And I know I wasn’t great to you when we were teens, but I’m clearly different and so are you, but that something that kept us poking at each other is still here, now, just different.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed after a beat. “But Derek, I live--”

“Less than a day’s drive away,” Derek finished. “And right now, you live fifteen minutes away.”

“For two weeks.”

Derek shrugged. “That’s quite a few hours. We just had two great ones, and those weren’t even planned.”

Stiles glanced over at the tow driver, then back at Derek and sighed. “Give me a minute,” he mumbled.

Stiles walked back over to the tow and thanked him again but said he didn’t need a ride after all.”

“‘s got a nice car,” the driver noted, nodding their head towards the Camaro.

“Yeah, it’s real nice,” Stiles agreed. 

The tow started its engine, and Stiles headed back towards the Camaro. He saw the trunk was popped open, and he felt a burst of warmth run through him at seeing a physical manifestation of Derek’s hope he’d say yes.

Slamming the trunk shut, suitcase enclosed, shook the car, and it settled once Stiles was seated back in the passenger seat.

“Buckle up, Millie, we have to head onto the road now and you wouldn’t want your dad to get pulled over because you weren’t buckled in.”

Derek had this look on his face when Stiles chanced a glance that sent a shiver down his spine.

Derek leaned across the console into the back to help Millie get herself situated and then got them out of the way of the tow, heading down the opposite way and back towards the main road that was now clear of any traffic jams.

As Millie jumped back into singing with the radio, Stiles said to Derek, “I have some rules.”

“Oh, well we _have_ changed since high school. Enacting rules rather than breaking them?”

“Rule one,” Stiles interrupted. “Full communication. We don’t like something, or something isn’t working, even if we don’t want to say it, we have to. If we want this to work, we have to let it.”

Derek cleared his throat. “Deal. Number two?”

“Oh, now I make all the rules? No, you have to carry some of the weight here.”

Derek snorted and he threw on the turn signal. “Alright, okay. Don’t upset Millie.”

“I’m not upset!” Millie assured them from the backseat.

“Already smashing rule two,” Stiles joked. “But yes, obviously.”

“Rule three?”

“We make a schedule. Once things settle after the holidays. If we want to be serious, we have to be adult about this.”

Derek pulled onto his street, and Stiles realized that he hadn’t given Derek any directions at all.

“How many times have you driven to my house?” Stiles blurted.

Derek flushed pink. “I may have stopped by to see if the Jeep was repaired yet or not, a few times, after I gave you a lift home. In case you needed another one.”

Stiles shook his head slowly. “Derek, if you had a crush on dorky sixteen-year-old me, that is _way_ more embarrassing than my crush on hot eighteen-year-old you.”

Derek pulled the car to a stop outside of Stiles’ old house. The front porch lights were on, obviously anticipating his arrival. 

“Phone,” Stiles demanded, holding his hand out.

Instead, Derek grabbed his wrist and pulled him close, pressing their lips together in a dry, but heart-racing kiss.

When Stiles sat back, he could hear their soft pants and the sweet snoring of little Millie who was slumped over in her car seat, asleep. 

“I used to drive her around until I could get her to sleep, after she was just born. Now, any nighttime car trips she’s out like a light,” Derek whispered, his breath hitting Stiles’ cheek.

“Aw,” Stiles cooed. “I still need your phone number, though.”

After swapping numbers and Derek’s promise to text once they both got home, Stiles kissed him, no less chastely, but they both leaned into it, like teenagers on a first date, not wanting to go home.

“Hey,” Derek called out before Stiles closed the door completely, backpack swinging up to hit his shoulder and suitcase bumping against his ankles as he turned and leaned back down. “Call me if you need a ride.”

Stiles smirked. “I will.”

The Camaro hummed as it drove off, and Stiles waved it away, feeling giddy like he hadn’t in years, walking up to the house, fishing his keys out of the bottom of his backpack.

As Stiles closed the front door behind him, he watched his dad spring up from his lounge chair in the living room and beam at him. “Hey! You’re back late! I heard on the scanner there was a wreck right outside of town. Did you get caught in the traffic?”

Stiles bit back his grin “Yeah. something like that.”

**Author's Note:**

> check me out for more at [redhoodedwolf](http://redhoodedwolf.tumblr.com) on tumblr


End file.
